You chime that that the schmuckwho laughs last will be the loneliest.My head shakes, & I shrugfor primetime effect.

Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter.Doesn’t matter from us, from this autumn grainshare origin in the ancestral stardust pools?We might be star babies in the milky way’s womb,out of the enormous bang no one could hear.That ‘s our prehistoric unity, before the literatemadmen had words, before the sunburntloner would giggle at himself,at overlooked kinship in shoedirt.

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